


Fulfilling

by isevsianne



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Crack, M/M, can you tell I'm avoiding NaNo by writing this?, yes this is a fic about a bowl loving phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 15:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8451175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isevsianne/pseuds/isevsianne
Summary: Barry the Bowl hated Dan, and that emotion filled him to the brim, which was hopefully the kind of joke Phil would appreciate, had Barry the voice to tell him.





	

Barry really, _truly_ , did not like Dan Howell one bit. As a bowl, one's purpose was to serve multiple masters, but if Barry had an active choice in the matter, he would curl up into a ball of glass every time Dan grabbed him from the kitchen cupboard. Barry would deny Dan his bowlness, because in Barry's mind, Dan did not deserve it. 

Barry prefered Phil, the one who gave him his name. Anonymity reigned supreme in the kitchenware world – there were no Sam the Spatulas or Willow the Whisks, only Barry the Bowl had a name and Barry wore this with appropriate pride. To be named was to exist, and all Dan had wanted was to deny Phil's naming of Barry – cruel at best, metaphysically hateful at worst. Barry returned this feeling and hated Dan, and that emotion filled him to the brim, which was hopefully the kind of joke Phil would appreciate, had Barry the voice to tell him.

On top of this undeniable cruelty to kitchen utensils, in Barry's eyes (had he eyes, but that was beside the point) Dan was very mean to Phil. He was always chucking things at Phil and not laughing at Phil's puns, instead insisting Phil “get out” and swearing in a way that made Barry's ears hurt (had he ears). Phil was a beacon of sunshine and light who could never mistreat anybody, be it a horrid stroppy demon like Dan, or an innocent bowl like Barry. Barry relaxed as Phil cradled Barry lovingly and whisked together an omelette or poured popcorn into him. Phil made him feel cared for, or at least as cared for as he could imagine a bowl ever being cared for. Phil filled him up with things, but he also filled him with joy. And as for Dan? All he did was yell unpleasantly when things were put in Barry. It was very rude. 

Barry couldn't deny that a certain measurement of jealousy was filling him, too. Dan was always hogging up Phil's attention and time and hands. Barry couldn't miss the moments when Phil was holding him against his body, and another body bumped into him from the other side, as Dan leaned close to Phil with a smile, and then didn't say anything, didn't yell at Phil, and definitely didn't tell him to get out. 

“Can you focus?” Phil asked Dan, who just leaned in again, defiantly, caring little that Barry was right there, awkwardly in the middle of whatever this was. 

“Phil, put the bowl away, for fuck's sake,” Dan said, in mock frustration, and Barry was placed on the table, far from the warmth of Phil's body, which was now pressed up against the demon monster Dan himself, Dan's arms making sure Phil stayed perfectly put.

Barry seethed, as much as a bowl could seethe.

But this was a pattern that would repeat itself. One night, Phil made popcorn and poured it all into Barry, settling in on the sofa and positioning Barry on his lap, hands on Barry's sides. Finally, Barry thought, they had some time together. Just a film, him and Phil, and some lovely, freshly salted and buttered popcorn. Then the sofa cushions next to the two of them dipped, and Dan crashed the party, all limbs and dark fabric, his legs settling next to Phil's legs, the movement nearly tipping Barry over. 

“What are we watching?” Dan asked, digging his disgusting fingers into Barry's popcorny depths, and Barry wished he had a voice to shout, “You're not invited, you prat, go away.”

Instead of telling Dan to kindly go back to his room, Phil answered his question and moved Barry to the small space between their bodies, Barry squeezed between two hips. Barry wanted to explode into a thousand spiky shards all over Dan. This wasn't Dan's night, this was Barry's night with Phil and a lovely movie. If Dan wanted to spend time with Phil, he could try and treat him better, like not yell at him over video games (yes, Barry damn well heard that, even from the kitchen cupboard) or laugh at his puns more often, or not throw icing or cereal at him when Phil was just trying to live, or not crowd Phil with his monstrous body when Phil was just making breakfast. It wasn't like Barry disliked Dan just because Barry liked Phil much better, but Dan had scarcely done much to convince anybody that Phil should prefer him over an inanimate object like Barry. What was Dan good for, really? Could he hold a large amount of melted chocolate? Could he be placed on the table to serve a lovely salad? Dan was like the mixer in the back of the cupboard that Phil used once or twice and hasn't really taken out since. Dan has a couple of functions, but he took up more space than his functionality really allotted him. 

When the film ended, Barry was empty apart from a few unpopped kernels, Dan's fingers idly playing at them on the bottom of the bowl as Barry grimaced. Then Dan unceremoniously moved Barry away from him and Phil, closing the space between them where Barry had previously sat. Phil didn't seem to mind, which bothered Barry, but didn't surprise him. This stupid, non-functional Dan really had done a number on his poor Phil – and Barry had no idea how or why. Dan had his buttery, awful fingers wrapped up in Phil's shirt and Phil seemed to only want more. Barry didn't know what they were doing, pushing their bodies so close to each other in an awfully complicated manner, but eventually they got up, pink-cheeked and anxious to get out of the living room.

Barry sat on the floor, abandoned and betrayed, and there he stayed all night. Barry vowed revenge, but what could he realistically do? He couldn't roll up into a ball and deny Dan the Useless One his own superior functionality. All he could do was remain, and maybe in due time Phil could come to see who really carried his weight around in this household. 

In the morning, Phil emerged with messy hair and glasses and spotted Barry on the living room floor. He took Barry to the kitchen and soaped him up in the sink, washing him with warm water and a soft sponge, sending appreciative shivers down Barry's sides. Phil began singing under his breath, barely a whisper, but Barry detected words about himself, and washing, and sponges. Phil continued singing as he rinsed and dried Barry, and Barry had never felt this loved in his short life as a conscious kitchen utensil. The morning so far was blissful.

“There you go, Barry,” Phil said softly as he placed Barry in the cupboard, dry and clean and beautiful.

“Are you _actually_ talking to the bowl, Phil?” Dan's indignant voice came from the kitchen doorway.

“Be nice to him,” Phil said lightly and covered the sides of Barry, where his ears would be if bowls had ears, which Barry thought was a very nice gesture.

“Sorry, are you standing up for a bowl?” Dan asked incredulously. “I'm going back to bed, and when I come back, please stop chatting up the utensils.”

“Jealous of a bowl, are we?” Phil quipped jokingly, but Barry bristled. Dan's anger was unpredictable, and Barry didn't want to be broken into pieces just because Dan couldn't stand his presence any longer. 

But instead of flaring up like he typically did, Dan seemed perfectly calm. 

“Fine, Phil, I'll be nice to all the bowls and spoons,” he said, half-mocking, half-sincere, placing a hand on his heart. “I'll do better. Then will you join me in the lounge for some sports anime?”

“Absolutely,” Phil replied airily, and took out a smaller bowl from right next to Barry, for his morning cereal.

Barry stayed in the cupboard and felt pride, having been so masterfully defended by Phil. He knew Dan would not change his ways this easily, but if he could still sit between them during movie nights, and if Phil would fish out the last popcorn from him, and then wash him afterwards, then maybe Barry could tolerate Dan's evil ways, the yelling and the icing chucking and the constant bumping of bodies and mouths he made Phil participate in. Maybe, in due time, Dan could learn to treat Phil as well as Phil treated Barry – like a delicate flower, even as he was a sturdy bowl.

In the meantime, Barry would continue to watch Dan carefully, and judge him. A lot.

**Author's Note:**

> I am the true demon monster for writing this fic, but I just couldn't get it out of my head and had to put it down on paper, and then I wanted others to join me in my shame. I don't know.


End file.
